#because again

The Kid, patron saint of the exploited, abused, unheard, who's honored in a city in my D&D campaign. She acts for those buried in shallow graves, and those the monsters thought so unimportant that they didn't even bother.

The Kid straddles the line between reckoning and revenge, since that's as close as Bassuras' powerless ever get to justice.

For the concept and design, my GM was inspired by by Nalo Hopkinson's novel Midnight Robber and Diane Dillon's cover art for it!

I hate Ahsoka’s outfit she wears in season one until the new one she gets in I think season three.

The thing that makes me hate it more, is how there are people trying to defend it. Like, oh, more clothing would restrict her movements, especially with her fighting style.

I haven’t watched all of the Clone Wars yet, so you can correct me if I’m wrong, but name me one male Jedi that has her fighting type that is wearing revealing clothing like hers.

Heck, Anakin uses it. Yet, he’s allowed to wear all of the robes he wants and no one bats an eye.

Jedi Master Adi Gallia also used Form V, and while she’s also a female character who, again, uses the same fighting technique, Form V, as Ahsoka, her outfit is no where near as revealing as Ahsoka, who was 14 in the first season.

Another argument is that she’s appealing to young girls. No one I knew at that age dressed like that, save for a few exceptions. It’s something I would maybe find an older teen wearing, not someone her age.

Also, and this irritates me so much you have no idea, she’s in an active war zone. What do you mean she’s wearing that in a war zone??

Both of her shoulder and the entirety of her arms are exposed, including some of her stomach. She has no coverage, and like no armor either unlike Anakin and Obi-Wan who wear some armor pieces. She has nothing to protect her if she gets shot, and sorry but that personally irks me considering she’s fighting in a war.

I hate it when any characters going into an active war zone are dressed like that. I don’t care if they’re male, female, or nonbinary. No one should be wearing something like that in a setting they’re in.

The fact that she’s not the only one either. Aayla Secura is another female Jedi who also seems to fall under this, but at least she gets a sleeve. But guess what? No armor. And while Aayla’s outfit also upsets me, she’s an adult.

Ahsoka is a minor.

And the thing is, I’m pretty sure this is all systemic sexism considering that the production team working on the show had a huge male to female ratio.

I like her later outfits, after her second one, way more. Actually gave her some armor. Just wished she could have worn that from the beginning since it’s way better than what she was wearing before.

If I got anything wrong, or anything I said came off wrong, please correct me.

spoilers for avids backstory and episode under the cut

But when I think about it, I realize there's no way for their polycule to happen in canon, Louis is, like... dead. Yeah, yeah, weak aura, strong aura don't need any canon interactions, they can ship characters from completely different universes, not just with those who are already dead. Whatever.

It just means I need to go purely from the vibes when writing for them. Like how Pyro would win Louis's heart by also being autistic, a loser, an outcast, a wet cat, helpless (when he becomes a vampire, Pyro is very vulnerable because he doesn't understand his new abilities and he needs someone to rely on, and Louis... I mean... I always thought he liked being the one who saves people). And Pyro has his weird charm, just like Owen.

So they could easily be Owen 2.0. Not in the sense that Louis isn't satisfied with just Owen, or that he'd want to replace him... Rather, the fact that Louis could find room in his heart for another wet, angsty rag of a man. With these vibes, their polycule could definitely work. But I need to think more... it's just sooo not enough

A ShinRan Week 2026 Entry Prompt: Mutual Pining / Domestic / College Roomates!AU / Birthday Words: ~1.2k

"Where the hell is that Pabron Gold A," Shinichi grumbles for the eighth time, arm extended up to the back of the kitchen cabinet. Today, he is supposed to be basking under the heat of the sun, feet in contact with a soccer ball and surrounded by his team he promised a game with, not trudging the floor of the apartment like a sorry old man attempting to look for a medicine in his sorry bleary state.

"I was gone for a minute and I see you like this." From behind him, Shinichi hears the prick in his best friend's tone. He doesn't mean for her to see him doing this behind her back, but he can't be expected to sit idly either while in a near-death experience. "And you say you'll get better soon? What a child."

Like a child, Shinchi is escorted by Ran back their shared apartment's living room couch. "I told you to stay still, Mr. Birthday Boy. Let me be the one to serve you."

On another day Shinichi would have smirked at the unintentional innuendo, but he is too troubled by an impending sneeze that he replies to Ran with a, well, sneeze.

"Happy Birthday to me, indeed." He slumped back into the couch.

On the other end of the floor, Ran prepares a glass of warm water and sets up a kettle, mind briefly drifting to the birthday cake in the fridge. Seems it will have to sit in there a little longer until she can share it together with her best friend sans the sore throat.

She cannot see Shinichi at the moment, but she can picture the face he's sporting then, what with the petty grumbles of "can't believe I missed soccer, damn" and "what a waste of a fine day" she overhears in between occasional bouts of cough. Ran sighs, addresses Shinichi from the kitchen with a voice that resonates across the unit. "Soccer can wait, Shinichi."

"Says the woman who still attended karate training despite a sprain," Shinichi croaks back.

"To clarify, that was not a sprain. Just a strained muscle."

"Sure." Shinichi coughs again and winces.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Ran cuts him off before he prolongs the banter, stopping in front of the couch to kneel in front of him who has risen begrudgingly to a sitting position. She places the glass of water near his mouth for him to hold and pops a tablet to his palm. "Soccer can wait. Your immune system can't. It will be a shame if you die on your birthday. These meds you're looking for are right beside you by the way."

"Oh. Thanks."

He feels her watch him down the medicine with water, as if Ran doesn't trust him enough to drink his medicine all the way. It isn't supposed to make him feel awkward, she's consistently done the same since the first hour of his fever, and yet the feeling of being monitored down to the very last detail by his childhood friend of almost sixteen years flusters him. Man is he ever going to get used to this.

"I can take care of my self yanno. I’m twenty," Shinichi states feebly, after he gives her back the empty glass and Ran pulls up a cooling gel sheet from the end table.

“Shut up. I’ll take care of you until we’re eighty,” she replies, eyes thin, looming closer to his face.

He sniggers. "That long? You gonna marry me or something?"

It is a remark borne out of confidence that the recipient who has known him for almost his entire life will take it in jest. Even so, in the burning soreness of his throat - not sure if caused by his sickness or the words which left his mouth - Shinichi feels like the fever is being sucked out of himself everytime he sees her responsive smile and hears her little laugh.

"I'll think about it," she says, as she combs his bangs away with her fingers, and places the gel patch over his forehead.

Shinichi knows it's a response borne out of confidence that the recipient will be certain Ran doesn't literally mean it. That she will not step out of sight and lean behind the kitchen wall and ponder about his amateur proposal as if her life depends on it. Which actually, it does. A lifetime with him? Pfft. Too early to imagine. It's better to dwell in the now. With her. Taking care of him. Best friends for almost two decades now, on a milestone day in his life.

Still.

"You don't have to, though," he mumbles, inaudible for Ran to hear.

More inaudible are the thoughts he doesn't convert to speech, looping like a broken record in his brain:

You don't have to- We don't have to think about it that hard.

It's obvious.

We can decide right here, right now.

But if you let me speak first Ran, I think, for the longest time, I have already made my choice-

"You said something, Shinichi?"

"I mean, you don't have to answer that. Haha," is what he says instead. "I was joking, Ran."

Ran is silent for a long time, then smiles.

"I know, idiot Shinichi," she says after a moment, ruffling his bangs. "You would never choose a crybaby caretaker like me, right?"

A certain quiet commonly shared by two childhood best friends lingers in the room, and in the pause he starts to wonder if he has actually been vague with Ran all this time. He doesn't know why there is a pang of disappointment in his chest, but if such does exist, he is certain it is not directed at her response, but rather, at himself. For once, on his birthday, Shinichi actually wishes.

Shinichi wishes for something different. He wishes for a slight bit of reciprocation that is beyond the realm of friendship. He wishes for Ran to take back what she said and have enough faith in him to believe that he actually would.

After all, this certain feeling hasn't left him since he was four, since he saw her in that kindergarten classroom with a mile-wide smile despite tears clouding her eyes, a crumpled sakura paper in hand with his name in hiragana written on it.

Before he can open his mouth, she speaks first.

"Anyway! I give you a pass to tease me because it's your birthday. Get well soon so we can at least go out and have a nice dinner later, okay?" Her smile is natural, as always, along with the ocean blue of her eyes and the apple of her cheeks.

For the longest time he's known: that smile impressed upon him is meant as platonic.

Ran grazes a hand over his forehead one last time before rising to her knees. "I'll prepare tea, Shinichi," she says, solemnly.

In the silence she leaves him as she hums away unto the whistling kettle, in between the soft rhythm of Shinichi's beating heart, there's an endless rippling stream, drip drip dripping throughout himself. In his heart lies an unshakeable, pressing ache. A need devoid of malice. A truth that will take a hundred more birthday wishes and a thousand meteors crashing down earth before he caves into verbal admission -

"Want it to mean everything but, barou."